


Something stupid

by wawalux



Series: Blue [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Romance, Awesome Claire Temple, Claire Temple is So Done, Drama & Romance, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, French Kissing, Gentle Kissing, Hurt Matt Murdock, Kissing, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, My First Smut, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, POV Claire, POV Matt Murdock, Romance, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sex, Shower Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:26:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25708153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wawalux/pseuds/wawalux
Summary: There was something inexplicably sexy about being trapped a hairbreadth away from Matt Murdock's lips. I mean, just the sight of him. I almost didn't want him to kiss me because this distance, this wait, was so excruciatingly sweet and painful that it made my stomach contract, butterflies be damned. This, right here, this was my something stupid and Jesus, I was just going to have to make it stupid enough. I wanted this to shine brightest when my time came.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Claire Temple, Matt Murdock/Claire Temple
Series: Blue [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1864486
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	Something stupid

**Author's Note:**

> So I did something weird here. This is technically part of Blue, which you'll need to read if you want some context. But I felt we all need some fluff and smut to brighten these crazy days, so why not have it as a separate piece too?
> 
> Hope it's not too confusing.
> 
> Ready? Steady? SMUT.

_Claire_

It's funny how we spend our lives avoiding the mistakes. Get a job. Pay your bills. Don't eat that extra piece of cake. Keep yourself alive and hope to stumble into happiness on your way home.

It's funny because the moments that are worth it, the ones where you forget to breathe and life hits you harder than a punch, those moments, well, they are never on purpose. Life hides in the mistakes that we pretend we didn’t want to make, in that feeling where gravity sends you soaring through the air, in those instants right before the earth-shattering repercussions that knocked you to your knees, in the how you got that cataclysmic karma that you never really shook off. Life is the something stupid that we just have to do, just because we know better.

I believe that when you reach that last breath, and your life supposedly flashes before your eyes, it won't be those healthy good-for-you days that will be streaking past. No, your heart will thump to the beat of those oh so-stupid-moments that made you feel alive. And when they’ll ask, you will tell them, with an all-knowing smile, that life was fucking worth it.

There was something inexplicably sexy about being trapped a hairbreadth away from Matt Murdock's lips. I mean, just the sight of him. I almost didn't want him to kiss me because this distance, this wait, was so excruciatingly sweet and painful that it made my stomach contract, butterflies be damned. This, right here, this was my something stupid and Jesus, I was just going to have to make it stupid enough. I wanted this to shine brightest when my time came.

I lived a thousand lifetimes in the space between our lips. Matt was still, lingering between need and doubt, between wishes and reality. I absorbed every second of his hesitation, the tenderness in his respect, unwavering even when every cell in my body was inviting him in. I absorbed his face in the semi-darkness, how his eyes were almost shut like they were already halfway there, in that kiss that I wouldn’t give. I watched his lips, slightly parted to let out breaths that were too big for his chest. Those damned lips that I had stared at through each conversation, who had shattered something inside me every time they broke into a smile. Those lips that went still and thinned when the devil stole his face. The lips that had asked me not to fall when I was already on the ground. I watched them inch closer to my face, I watched him hesitate and want, I watched until I couldn’t feel my legs. And still, I never wanted to close my eyes.

I played with the small hairs at the base of his neck, tracing a finger gently up through each vertebra in his spine until it got lost in the jungle of his locks. I felt his back bow like a cat's and luxuriated in the permission to do as I pleased, to not have to search for injuries. His body was my playground and I was going to take my time to try each set of swings and slides.

I ran my fingers down from the top of his scalp to the edge of his collar, nails against skin but light enough to itch instead of burn. I traced my fingers like a match teasing sparks, pausing before the flame. Matt inched closer until he was panting, breath hot and heavy in my mouth, and his arms spasmed and clenched in the wall behind me.

"Claire," he moaned somewhere very very close. I loved the way he could claim me with my name, how he made it only his to say. His breath teased my lips, light as a butterflies’ pause before flying away, leaving me tingling on the inside of my bones. 

It wasn’t even a second, the length of time it took for me to gently place my lips on his. But I knew I’d always remember that feeling, that need, that want to sow his skin to mine. I’d always remember the depth of that abyss that lay between us as I crossed it in the dark.

He kissed me like a punch, like a clap of thunder. There was none of the hesitation of our first kiss, none of the gentleness. His lips crushed mine with the brute force of a starving man, of a caged animal finally let free. I expected nothing less from the devil. And it suited me just fine.

I tried to keep up with my breathing, I tried to remember how to stand, I tried to keep track of my hands but Jesus fucking Christ, Matt knew the exact way to make his kisses feel so deep that my soul spilled inside out. I clung onto his shoulders for dear life, cloying at his back, digging with my nails, but none of it even made a dent in that stupid armour.

"Armor off, Matt, take it _off_ ," I panted against his mouth. But just then his tongue found its way to mine and I forgot what I wanted to say. And still his hands stayed nailed to that damn wall like a painting on display.

Matt paused right before the moment where I was pretty sure I was close to seeing stars. He stilled with his bottom lip just close enough to tease mine and it was so unbearable that I let out a high-pitched whine that was more appropriate of a kicked puppy than a full-grown woman.

He tilted his head and closed his eyes, concentrating.

“Matt,” I begged. He moved his right hand to still me, fingertip held against my chin. Wait, the finger said. But then it proceeded to trail the length of the inside of my neck and I shuddered so violently that my jaw rattled. I whimpered and grasped that bottom lip, letting it slide slowly through my teeth in vengeance.

It was Matt’s turn to crumple, muscles falling in a heap against my chest and an unmistakeable hunger painting his face. But he pulled himself away, once more, trying to catch his breath with his forehead pressed against mine.

“Wait,” he pleaded, “just. Let me check.” Every word reached my skin before my ears in big bold brushes of fire.

“Check what?” I let a hand fall like smack onto his chest and let gravity pull it down, slowly but purposefully, making sure that he could feel the pressure through the thick cloth.

He made a noise half-way between a groan and a growl, back bent like a question mark, lips falling into a rough kiss that wouldn’t be contained.

“I need to…” he gasped as my hand reached his ribcage as it opened wider than a bear-trap.

“Check…” he paused again, tight abs chiselled even through the material. I took my time feeling each swell and dent while my insides swooped like I was going down a set of particularly steep stairs.

“If she is going to come back anytime soon,” he said the rest in a huffed jumble that made my lips move with his. I had forgotten all about the girl on the roof. I had forgotten pretty much everything, really.

He tore himself away with another strangled groan, his arms trembling as he struck the wall behind me, and crushed his head on my shoulder, fighting for restraint. I continued down, nearing his hip bones, then lower, and lower, until right before. I watched him shake, fight not to arch forward. Then I took my hand back and let it fall to my side like it was never there.

His eyes popped open in response and I knew he would have glared at me if he could. He moved his forehead into the wall so that his mouth could speak directly into my ear.

“Claire, you need to let me check because what I’m going to do to you, well, let’s just say once I start you won’t want me to stop,” it was his turn to trace a finger gently down the length of me, his voice low and confident and deadly. I shivered and held tighter to his shoulders.

He let his lips do the tracing now, showing me just how useless hands could be. Matt read my skin like a book in braille, stilling at all the pressure points that were connected directly to my core, so that I almost came there and then as he tasted each with his tongue, as he nipped and kissed and ravaged my skin until I struggled to stand.

“Does,” I started, but Matt’s lips were nearing my collar bone and the rest of my sentence became an ‘mmmmmm’.

Words, come on words. Come back to me.

“Does your…” This time it was an ‘ahhh’ as he licked the top of my breasts, leaving trails of ice and fire.

“Bathroom,” I huffed. Clearly there was too much talking because Matt decided to busy my mouth with his. There was one more little word that I had to find a way to say, one more and then even the question mark could be forgotten in the feel of his tongue.

I had my whole brain cheering me on, come on Claire, one more word and we can shut down for good. But then what a waste to use my mouth to speak when Matt just tasted so Goddamn amazing, and maybe lips weren’t created to talk after all. It seemed mine were created to do just this.

I took advantage of the millisecond I had while Matt moved from the corner of my mouth to the start of what was hopefully another delicious trek down my body to say: “Lock.”

He paused and I didn’t blame him. Pulling my half-murmured words into a coherent sentence was more than could be asked of anyone right now. I’d even forgotten what I was trying to say myself, having had to concentrate so hard on the one word at the time. My mind now worked in images and simple halted sentences like a telegram – Me and Matt –(STOP)- Bathroom –(STOP)- Locked door –(STOP)- The end of the world as we know it –(STOP)-.

“Matt?” I think I wanted to ask if he understood, but mostly I just wanted to say his name.

Then his hands were finally, FINALLY on me, and he scooped me up in his arms and headed for the bathroom. I let the devil drag me to the hottest plinth of hell, and damn, it wasn’t hot enough.

.

_Matt_

I couldn’t even. Gah. It’s like there wasn’t enough of me do everything I wanted to do to Claire in each moment. And she was just. God. Did she realise what she was doing to me?!

I had to keep my arms on the wall not to crush her. I had to keep my hands away to concentrate, one sense at the time, on the Claire that was in front of me, warm and alight and so wet I could smell it, I could fucking smell it through her clothes and I just wanted to, I just needed to. _I had to keep my hands on the wall._

I don’t know how we made it to the bathroom, my senses united on that one spot that was calling me home. I couldn’t see anything else. I couldn’t feel anything else. I couldn’t hear anything else. I just knew that Claire was carving an imprint in my arms and I never wanted to let go. And Jesus, she was brighter than the sun and just as warm. I was basking in her glow.

I set her down when the world started smelling like old pipes and stagnant water, hoping that meant we were in the right room. Frankly, I didn’t care. I missed her weight the second it left my skin, but my hands were no longer willing to still. The bathroom lock clicked like the gun signalling the start of a race and I was already running.

I searched for the heat of her mouth as my hands ran races of their own. The path was clear, marked in big bold red letters. I didn’t even need to look. Her breasts were first, they had to be first when they were jutting out like that. I felt their weight in my palms, running them past the bra that squeezed me tighter to her skin. She moaned deep when my index found her nipple, hardening at my touch, the sound starting shivers on my tongue that ended somewhere lower and became one with the pulsing.

I moved one of the hands to her hair, fingers combing through their silkiness, searching for each cadence in that scent that made her so uniquely Claire. I never wanted to breath anything but her again.

And then I couldn’t help it, I moved my hand down without even asking, feeling her back curve at my touch and I pushed it past her jeans and into the core of her heat, fingers slipping straight into the opening that was waiting just for me. I felt her walls tremble, already on the edge, I felt her sigh as her knees gave in and her legs spread ever so slightly, but I was going to take my time, feel her flush, swallow each moan as I made her mine.

Claire unbuttoned her jeans, an invitation if there ever was one, but there was not time to pull them down. I took both her wrists in my free hand and moved them to the wall. They could keep each other company as we burned.

Claire didn’t fight me but her fingers curled as I gently found her clit, sliding my thumb on it just once before slipping my fingers back inside, testing the response. She clenched like a hiccup, bit her lip, released. I kissed her neck, slowly, from jaw to collarbone and back, while she whimpered and rocked gently against my hand. I circled her clit once again, giving her what she needed, just not enough.

“God. Matt,” she begged, wrists struggling in my hands, and the sound of her tongue moving was too much. I closed her lips with mine and moved my hands in big long strokes, gentle and slow, back and forth, until she was swaying harder than my movements and she started tightening against my fingers. Then I moved both my hands to her breasts, feeling their weight land hot and heavy in my groin. I moved my lips down her jaw, down, down, between her breasts, burying my face in the softness and the heat, moving to suck at each nipple, grazing them with my teeth, vaguely aware of how Claire’s hands moved from the wall to my shoulders to my hair, how she started pulling, how she started groaning. I followed the heat, down, down, I kissed her stomach and freed her from her jeans in one swift tug that annoyed me, because it required both my hands and there were so many other places that I wanted them to be right now.

And finally I was there, and she was wetter than my mouth, and I could taste her and fuck, I couldn’t stop my tongue from running over the silkiness, I couldn’t stop pressing that heat, and her hands were pulling at my hair, and her knees were bending her weight lower and tighter against my lips, and I thought I should tell her not to scream, but I was too busy drowning in the drumming of her heart.

I watched the flush rise like the sun on her chest, grow to her face. I felt the blood pulse like a shore against my tongue, and followed its rhythm, while the air filled her lungs louder than water. I had my fingers inside her just in time to feel her clench, tight, again, and again, and again. She clutched onto my neck like I could support her weight as she flew, but she didn’t know, she didn’t realise I was holding on by a thread, and just her bare fingers on my neck were enough to make me throb and beg to come undone.

I took my hand away and stood against her like she was a wall, trying to breathe through air that wouldn’t still, trying to land with her. But Jesus, she was too much. Hands against wall. _Hands. Against. Wall_.

Claire barely paused. She placed her forehead against mine and tugged at the collar of my suit with frantic hands. She didn’t ask. Maybe she couldn’t ask. Her hands did the talking. I guided her fingers to where the zip was hidden on the side of my chest. I couldn’t stop trembling as the little metal teeth set me free. But there was too much air around me, not enough Claire. I needed to feel all of Claire.

I clutched at her top, scrunching it in my hand, and for a minute that was all I could do because Claire’s fingers were so close to my skin, so fucking close. Claire paused and placed my hand on my own zipper while she removed her top, her bra, her jeans, her underwear. Each garment fell to the ground like autumn leaves and I was stuck in the beauty of how her skin glowed with warmth, so bright I could hear it like an angel’s song. I couldn’t move and I wished, I fucking wished I was allowed to see the glory that was in front of me. Because she deserved to see that look on my face, that look that told her just how beautiful she was.

“What’s wrong?” Her hand was tentative and gentle against the side of my face, genuine concern colouring her tone. And even that set me on fire.

“I just,” define yourself by what you have, value the differences, make no apologies for what you lack. Fuck. How stupid was this. How useless was I. She deserved more.

“I just wish I could see you right now,” damn that sounded wrong, you are a lawyer Matt, you are supposed to be good with words. “I mean, I wish I could see you every day, I wish I could see everything. But now, you just deserve to be seen right now.”

She turned her head to the side and I couldn’t read the expression on her face. I extended one palm hoping to feel it, but instead she pressed her face firmly against the only bit of skin that was free of the suit so that I could feel her lips turn into a smile.

“You see…I mean, your world on fire…it mostly works through sound, right?” she asked against my chest. I nodded because it was so hard to explain that sometimes even I struggled to understand.

“I have an idea,” she said, moving backwards, “suit off, daredevil.”

I obeyed. Or tried to. My fingers were shaking, the blood was in all the wrong place and it made me so clumsy that I almost broke the thing. But I tugged until I was free, suit at my feet like a discarded layer of skin, bare except for my boxers. Then I was searching for her, arm out, unsteady, blind.

I heard her twist the knob in my shower, the gurgle in my taps and then she stepped into the steaming spray. Water droplets hit the tile and bounced off the ceramic and I could draw the empty space. The rest smashed against her skin ringing like crystal in chandeliers, but each at a different angle, playing a different song. Her skin sang back, yielding to the pressure or fighting back, releasing its own perfume, little bits of Claire that had been hiding in the space between her cells.

It wasn’t an impressionistic painting, not quite. It was a symphony of gold and curves, flickering and always unfinished. I tried to absorb each note like lyrics in a tune, knowing each would flit through my fingers before they could form a sentence. And even though I was trembling with need, even though I was straining against my boxers, even though the distance between us stung sharper than a blow, I couldn’t stop looking, because she was perfect. Just perfect.

“Did it work?” she asked, louder than the spray, even when I could’ve heard her words just through the sound of her lips moving.

I crossed the bathroom in one stride, pausing only to drop my shorts, before joining her under the water. I watched her move to greet me as elegant as a jungle cat, taking her face in both my hands while I struggled to find the words. Words weren’t enough in moments like these.

I kissed her tenderly, delicately, then more deeply, trying to convey what this meant to me. Her sigh was like a melody.

“I…you…” words stumbled against her lips, “Claire, you. You are beyond beautiful.” I finished lamely, knowing it was too easy to dismiss my opinion, the ‘well, you are blind’ always waiting behind the lines. But I meant it, and instead of scoffing, she smiled into my skin and blushed softer than early morning light.

“Enough talking, choir boy,” she teased, moving one hand straight to my balls and holding firm. I jumped like I had been electrocuted, my head slamming back so fast I almost got whiplash. I moved my hands to the wall again, steady, steady, breathe.

“So, these super-senses of yours…” she trailed an index up, lightly, along the shaft. And Jesus, fuck. Just FUCK. I couldn’t breathe.

_._

_Claire_

He was like an Adonis, a Greek God chiselled from marble, finally naked, finally bare for no one but me to see. It felt like Christmas morning, like unwrapping a present I had begged for for months. I watched the water ripple down his toned muscles like the world’s most wonderful fountain and I could barely tear my eyes away long enough to appreciate his face. And damn, it wasn’t the perfect cut of his jaw, or the lushness of those lips, or even the innocence in his eyes, it was the way he was hesitating that made me feel like I was the most beautiful thing in the world. It made it hard to swallow.

The way he jolted every time I came near him was the cherry on top of the cake. Knowing how much he wanted me, physically, and how he couldn’t hide it. The sheer power in my hands right now made me more dangerous than the devil. I clutched him in my palm, squeezing just the once. He almost fell over, smacking his hand hard against the wall and letting his head fall against my shoulder. I could feel him swelling against my pressure, I could hear his breath hitch with each pulse. I could only imagine how sensitive he must be to touch when he could smell a man’s cologne from three floors down.

I kissed him, hard, biting his lower lip as I pulled up with my hand. He almost screamed, he almost pulled away, but I had him, right here, between my teeth, between my fingers. The devil was mine.

“Claire,” he pleaded as I let go of his lips, breathing hard, hard, hard against my cheek.

“Yes?” I asked innocently, drawing him out, but this game had an end and we both knew it was in sight. I was ready for him, aching for him and I bet he could tell just how much.

“Condom?” he wheezed out, breath tumbling out of his lungs and eyes squeezed shut as he pounded his fist rhythmically against the wall, a distraction from my hand that was closing tighter and tighter and tighter around him.

“Pill,” I answered, searching for his mouth, I didn’t have time for so many words, I didn’t have time for him not to be anywhere but deep inside me.

It took me the same time to find his lips as it took him to hitch my legs up with both his hands and let my back find the wall, until I was high enough and just above. I could feel him whisper against me as he twitched and I let a moan build inside, an echo of the heat.

I rocked my hips to let him inside, swayed down low until I could take all of him and then froze, absorbing the feel of fullness, of Matt, while he pressed his fingers in my thighs so hard it almost hurt. He didn’t move, panting, rubbing his forehead against my chest, against my breasts, searching for a control but finding only me wherever he turned.

“Say it Matt,” I whispered in his ear. I wanted to hear it. I wanted to have every part of him.

He only growled and nipped at my nipple. I shuddered, clenching without meaning to. He gasped and puffed.

“You have no idea,” he paused, biting his lip, letting out a grunt, “how good. You feel. Claire.” More breathing, heavy, slow, calculated.

I rocked my hips once, he kissed me like a fever.

“I can’t,” pause. Breathing. Cheek rubbed against mine. His eyes slammed shut, “I can’t. Think.”

“Then don’t,” I told him, rocking once more and placing my arms on his shoulder to hold myself up higher, to rock again, “let go Matt,” I told him as I moved again, but talking was becoming impossible. I felt his fingers tighten against my hips as he thrust, once, deep. He pushed me higher, almost pulled out and then thrust again, making my head lock towards the heavens, his face buried in my shoulder. I felt his teeth sink into my flesh as he thrust again, and again, and again, harder, faster, deeper until I forgot all about his teeth, and his fingers leaving bruises on my hips and I wondered who was screaming before I realised that it was me.

I came harder than before, wrapped around his shoulders and his hips and felt his strangled cry of ‘Claire’ against my cheek as he rode my waves over the edge. I came with a gasp that closed my lungs and turned the world black, just for a second. There was only beauty in the blindness that was the feel of Matt pulsing inside me.

He sunk to the ground with a groan, head buried in my shoulder, knees on the floor of the tub and me sitting on his lap, still wrapped around him. We stayed on the floor, breathless, the spray of hot water hitting us both only on one side. I noticed the steam for the first time: it filled the room as thick as a fog. It felt like it had enveloped my insides, swirling around my joints, lulling my brain. I didn’t want to move. Instead, I let my fingers find all the bumps on his skin where I had sown a little bit of me into a little bit of him. I was there, in each dent, each shadow of a stitch. I hoped his scars would remind him of me instead of all the ugly. It was comforting to know that he’d carry part of me with him, even if it was through an untidy mesh of broken skin. I guess I had already found a way to sow us together. I just had never realised.

Matt lifted his head finally, a pained expression on his face as he raised trembling fingers from my thighs. I noticed he was shaking underneath me, faintly.

“Matt? Are you ok?” I didn’t need to speak loudly to make the sound travel the short distance between us.

“I’m way better than ok,” he smiled, but then his face fell as he trailed his imprints on my hips and faintly raised bite marks on my skin. I couldn’t feel their pain, but he could probably see the heat of the bruising waiting to blossom, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he murmured.

“Matt, trust me, you didn’t hurt me, you,” I paused, remembering stars, remembering how I wanted him to hold me tighter, remembering the feel of him, wanting him all over again, “It was. You were. Unbelievable.”

He grinned then, fully Matt, a different Matt, a Matt I had never met. He was young and free and shy and real, and made it so damn hard not to fall. I took this bit of him away, folded it neatly in my heart, so it wouldn’t get crumpled, so it would last, so it would be there for years to come.

.

We washed each other with his hypoallergenic scent-free soap after. Only he could make prescription soap feel like a gift. It made his hands glide on my skin in ways that almost felt better than sex. He let me stroke each of his muscles, one by one, his eyes closed. There was moaning, and lust, but we didn’t do it again. Already kissing felt forbidden, even as we were unable to let any distance come between us.

We shared a big soft towel and shivered in the cold once we were clean. It was stupid, and inefficient, but it felt right. We stayed a little longer than we needed to get dry. I memorised the feel of his body pressed against mine like I knew it would be the last time.

He asked me to stay, once again, big hazel eyes fixed somewhere in my chest. I wasn’t sure if he meant to, but it felt like he was talking directly to my heart. And my heart responded with all the yeses in the world, even as I said goodbye, with my eyes.

There was only pain on his face as I reached for my coat, raw and honest like this night had washed away all pretences, all walls, all masks. He sat there like an offering of all the beauty that life could hold. I couldn’t bear it.

“Matt, tonight was,” I faltered.

Tonight was my something stupid. The one thing I’d grab in a fire, my one suitcase I packed to take to the other side. I’d been afraid I couldn’t make it shine bright enough. Now I knew it would be so bright that the rest of my life would pale in comparison. Tonight was everything, and he had to understand. But there was no way to explain how one night could change everything and still nothing at all.

I broke one last rule when I kissed him one more time, right by the front door. This time it was like our very first time, and his response was long, and gentle, hesitant and just so painfully sweet. I kissed him with the explanation I couldn’t give, hoping that he would hear the answer between my lips. I kissed him until my heart hurt because now it knew exactly what it had to give up, and it was too much.

I left with the sweet taste of beginnings in my mouth and the goodbye stuck in my throat. I tried not to see his hand move to reach for me as I walked away.

**Author's Note:**

> And I think I just managed to break my own heart here.


End file.
